Beyond Reach
by HetareAmerica
Summary: Alfred Jones, believe it or not, is never seriously late to anything, so why hasn't he shown up yet? What could have happened? Terrible summary. WARNING: BoyxBoy relationship, rated M for future parts which MAY contain lemon and WILL contain violence and other mature content.
1. The Beginning

Arthur remained in his home, reading a Sherlock Holmes novel while curling up on his couch, having nothing else to do that day. Winter was just about there. The weather people predicted that the next day the first snow will fall by nighttime. Arthur didn't care for the winter much, but he was used to it. He didn't like the reckless drivers at that time of year, how icy the sidewalks were, and the dreaded driveway shoveling that was always inevitable. Avoiding all that, at least for the moment, he read.

He was about finished with the final chapter when his telephone's shrill ring broke the calm in his living room. Feeling his eye twitch ever so slightly, he trudged over to the phone that remained at the other side of the room.

"'Ello?" he asked into the receiver, his annoyance creeping into his tone.

"Pardon me, Arthur-san. It's Kiku," the calm voice said from the end of the line.

"Oh, I see. Why did you call?"

"Well, Alfred-san was supposed to come over today. We were going to an anime convention, but he never showed. I've been waiting for him to arrive for over an hour now. I guess what I'm getting at is, I was wondering if you knew where he was."

"Sorry, but I don't know where he is. Didn't you try his cellphone?"

"Yes, but there wasn't an answer."

"He's probably driving right now. I'm sure he'll be there soon, Kiku."

"But he's never been late to see me. Believe it or not… I'm a bit worried, Arthur-san," Kiku said, concern sneaking into his voice. Arthur did find it a shock. Out of all the people he knew, Kiku was the calmest person he knew; only on very rare occasions had he seen the man worried.

"Oh," England said, not knowing what else to say. If Kiku was concerned, then he certainly had a good reason, which wasn't exactly a good thing. "I could… uh… check his place out. Like I said though, I'm sure he's on his way. I'll call you once I get to Alfred's home, okay?" There was silence on the other end for a moment.

"Thank you, Arthur-san."

"I have a quick question though. Why did you call me? And you know, not someone else?"

"Do you even have to ask? You've got to be the closest person to Alfred-san in the world, and I can tell you both care about each other." Arthur felt heat rise into his face.

"I'll call you later," he said hurried responded before setting the receiver back onto its base. Was the Brit's feelings towards the obnoxious American that obvious? He supposed it was, after looking at it in hind sight. They did spend a good amount of their time together, and they did live with one another for a period of time. Even though the two men's relationship could be viewed as a brotherly one, since Arthur did take care of Alfred, Arthur became attracted to the younger blonde. Yeah, he was annoying at times, and he may have idiotic ideas, but he really is a good person.

Arthur kept his eyes focused on the road ahead of him as he drove towards the American's home. As he thought about it, Alfred was never seriously late for anything. The longest he was late to anything was around five minutes. An hour is a large leap from a matter of minutes.

"Don't let your mind go down that road, man. A-anything could have happened. Maybe he had a flat tire… or something," Arthur tried to assure himself, though doing little good for his now elevated worry. He always thought of worse-case scenarios before thinking realistically, which was never very helpful. In attempts to shake off his worry and to relax himself a bit, he slid in one of his Beetle's CDs into the console of his car, and so he let his mind dance with the lyrics.

* * *

"Git! You here?" Arthur shouted as he pounded his fist on the front door of Alfred's home. There wasn't a response. "You're late to go to that convention or whatever with Kiku, y'know," he growled. He stopped knocking to listen for a response. The only reply was a gust of chilled air blowing against the Brit's back. Arthur tried looking through the front window, but couldn't see anyone or anything. "I'm coming in Alfred!" he warned before opening the wooden door, letting it swing wide open.

Arthur quickly peered inside the house, scanning the interior of the living room before cautiously stepping inside. Everything in the room was clean, for the most part. A couple of comic books were scattered on the coffee table, and one remained open on the cushioned chair that sat next to the far wall. England continued to make a sweep through the house, looking for anything off. Absolutely nothing struck him as odd. Not a thing in that house was different than it ever was. Not feeling a bit assured, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Kiku.

"Arthur-san?" the panicked voice on the other end asked.

"Yes, it's me Kiku. I'm at Alfred's place," Arthur said, still ever-so-slightly taken aback by the calmer nation's tone.

"Is he there?"

"N-no. Everything's in order here. Did you try his cell again?" The Brit asked, trying to keep his voice going at a relaxed pace.

"Multiple times," Kiku replied instantly, "Oh dear. What do you think is going on?" Arthur paused to think as he gazed out the clear front window, watching scraggly twigs blow in the wind.

"I don't know, Kiku. I don't know."

* * *

**Dun du da! Yes, the beginning of my Hetalia fan fiction has begun! It's kind of boring, but in the next couple of chapters it'll get better, and parts will be longer. It might take me time to get updates out, do to school and all that other good crap, so yeah. Please review if you enjoyed and would like to help me out in writing better and what not :) Talk to you people soon!**


	2. Discovery

**Quick note: Chapters WILL be longer! Also, I don't own Hetalia, so… :(**

* * *

Arthur remained defeated, now leaning forward as he sat on Alfred's plaid, patriotic colored couch. In his now sweating hands, he tightly gripped his cellphone, having tried to call Alfred more than five times. It was the same each time; six dull dial tones, and then the call was sent to the American's voicemail. It frustrated him to no end. Honestly, how hard is it to pick up a phone and answer it? Unless something happened that prevented you from- No. He was simply not going to allow himself to travel down that road, not this time. Every time he thought pessimistically, it was always the opposite of what was actually going on. Surely it was the same in this case.

Unsure of what to do until later on that night, he finally decided to tidy up the house a bit. He started in the living room, straightening up the comic books that were scattered, arranging them into neat piles by series. Then he went into the kitchen, only to be confronted by a lone McDonald's bag and an overwhelming smell of bleach. With a twinge of disgust, he picked up the bag with two of his fingertips, walking over to the white, garbage bin that rested next to the stone counter.

As he was about to drop the trash into the bin, something blue and white caught his eye. The Brit set the bag aside, and carefully reached inside the bin, soon pulling out pieces of what looked like a mug. The cup once adorned the American flag's red and white stripes, and the white stars backed up by blue. One piece in particular, however, made Arthur's heart skip a beat. There were a few dried up droplets of dark blood collected on the rough edge of the shard.

"He must have nicked himself when picking the pieces up," he tried to assure himself, failing to do so. He glared at the pieces that remained in his hand, shortly afterward harshly throwing the shards into the bin, along with the fast food bag. He then roamed around the house, throwing away stray candy wrappers here, organizing typed papers there. For about an hour he migrated from room to room, trying to relax himself. It didn't help in the slightest however.

Something just seemed… off. No, it wasn't something visible in the house. Just an overbearing sense of dread. It was probably the shard of mug that threw him off. Still, he couldn't help feeling what he did. Any sensible person would feel the same in his position. All he could do for the time being, until later that night, was wait. Wait until the sky was pitch black and it was ten at night. That was when he and Kiku arranged to call each other. If neither of them heard from Alfred by then, it was then that they would know for sure that the American was certainly not acting normal. They'd decide then what to do. Quite frankly, they both full-heartedly prayed it wouldn't get to that point. Both of the men hoped that any minute they'd get a phone call from the missing, young blond.

"Arthur, hey man. Sorry to freak out you and Kiku," he would say loudly; a chuckle would be intertwined with his words. Arthur would make sure that Alfred never heard the end of it; that was for certain. At the moment though, his cell phone was silent, not a single incoming call. Arthur tried calling again, not getting a response like the numerous times he had tried before.

The Brit tried gathering his memories; had Alfred ever done this sort of thing before? He came to the conclusion that he hadn't. He supposed a "hero" wouldn't ignore someone. This thought only led him down a grimmer road.

"Stop that," he said, trying to grin to himself, though ultimately failing. He let out an exhausted sigh as he propped himself on the couch that sat by the large windows of the living room. Turning himself around, he grabbed the red curtains and pulled them aside to look out the window pane. The harsh winter winds blew fiercely, reminding humans that winter was here. The sidewalks were empty, everyone wanting to stay warm in the comfort of their homes. It was so quiet, and lonely. Arthur felt so lonely, being in Alfred's house by himself. Would he get mad that the Brit was in his house without permission? It didn't matter if he did; Arthur had a bloody good reason for entering his home.

He raised his right hand to look at the cellphone that was held in it. Arthur was anxious, nervous, and overly concerned. The only thing that he was wishing for was for Alfred to call him. Just one simple phone call would make everything better. Arthur could stop worrying, and he could return to his normal self. He hated being so concerned, but it was hard not to in a situation like this. If someone you love dearly is missing, you're bound to be swimming in a pool of negative emotions and thoughts.

"Damn it all, Alfred. Why," the Brit's outward thought was interrupted by "God Save the Queen". "Alfred?" he asked the instant he flipped open his phone.

"No, it's Kiku," the calmer man spoke, "I was calling to see if you got a hold of Alfred-san." Arthur's face fell at the realization it wasn't the loud American on the other end of the line.

"No. I take it you haven't gotten in contact with him either," Arthur guessed.

"No, I haven't. He has three more hours to call us though," Kiku stated hopefully. Arthur let out a sigh of frustration.

"I'd still like to know where the git is," he muttered angrily.

"Maybe he thought the convention was another day, and went somewhere else instead," Kiku suggested.

"How would he be able to forget something like that?"

"Well, when I first told him about the convention, he said he'd write it down so he wouldn't forget. Perhaps he just wrote down the wrong date."

"So how can we prove that's the case?"

"Look around for a note that he may have written." Arthur paused for a moment to think to himself.

"Alright then. I suppose it's worth a shot," Arthur admitted tiredly. Kiku quickly thanked Arthur, reminding him to call if he figured out anything before hanging up. The Brit was in silence again. With a slow start, he began searching the house. He started in the living room, checking the insides of Alfred's comic books for slips of paper, opening up drawers. He looked anywhere a note could be left.

He remained empty handed after sweeping through all of the first floor, and even a majority of the second floor. Only one room was left to search. Alfred's bedroom. Reluctantly, he opened the wooden door, allowing him access to the room. Superhero posters were pinned up to the royal blue walls. His desk was cluttered with mounds and mounds of papers, and a single American flag was displayed in his pencil cup. This was the first place Arthur decided to examine. He rifled through the papers, taking the time to carefully examine all of the words on them. From the looks of it, all of the paper was work related. Nothing involving a convention here. He turned around and faced the messily made bed. The deep red comforter was wrinkled and tossed carelessly on the bed. Unable to concentrate, Arthur took a minute to straighten up the bed, something he was used to when Alfred lived with him. On the metal lamp that stood on the nightstand was a yellow post-it note. The blond pulled it off and read the neat handwriting that covered the paper.

"Anime convention with Kiku!" was written largely, and directly below it was that day's date.

"So he is aware it's today," Arthur mumbled with annoyance. He quickly placed the note back onto the lamp, and then took a seat on the edge of the bed. He scratched the back of his head before letting his hand fall into his lap. What now? His eyes scanned the room he was in, taking in every little detail. It took him a while to realize the top drawer of the nightstand was ever so slightly open. He hesitated for a bit, unsure whether or not to invade this little bit of privacy. His curiosity got the best of him though, allowing him to pull the drawer open. Only one object sat at the bottom of the shallow drawer. His glasses. Alfred's glasses. The blond's mouth gaped as he pulled Texas out. They were slightly bent, as if someone had punched them while they were on someone's face.

Aside from the fact they were damaged, two other facts that this left him with scared him even more. The first being that Alfred always wore his glasses, except when he slept of course. The other fact was this; if Alfred was hit, the glasses would most certainly still be on his face, and even if they weren't, they'd be lying on the ground wherever he had been hit. That means someone picked them up and put them in here. Someone cleaned up. Everything in that instant hit Arthur with great force. Alfred was attacked.

He wasn't sure what happened exactly, but he knew for certain he had gotten in a fight. And he lost. Whoever it was who attacked him cleaned up afterward in case someone came to check on the American. It explained the shards of mug in the garbage bin that remained in the kitchen. It explained the overwhelming smell of bleach. It explained the glasses. Arthur's heart wrenched painfully in his chest. Lost in his mind, he almost didn't hear his cellphone blare his country's song. His hand fumbled to pick up his mobile device, though eventually bringing it up to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked miserably into the phone.

"Arthur?" Alfred's voice came in a panicked whisper. "Artie? A-are you there?"

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Yes, I'm evil aren't I? I'm sorry for the delay; school is being a jerk. I'm going to try my best to upload at least once a week, but don't kill me if I miss a week, okay? I'm aiming to upload on Tuesdays, but again, I might not be able to due to homework. So far my main offenders are math and English :P Anyway, yeah. Next chapter will hopefully be more exciting, and I'm going to reveal Alfred's attacker I think; let me know on your thoughts on that. Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave a little review if you liked :) Till next time peeps!**


	3. Trapped

**I don't own Hetalia, unfortunately, otherwise things might have been a bit different :D Just kidding… Also, I'm sorry for any OOC'ness that may or may not occur in this story. Regardless, enjoy :)**

* * *

"Artie," Alfred's voice cracked as he whispered with panic.

"God, where the hell are you, Alfred?" Arthur asked loudly. He left the bedroom, trekking down towards the living room.

"I-I don't know… I need help," he whispered. Arthur could tell he was on the verge of tears.

"What's going on, Alfred?" Arthur asked with concern.

"I was t-taken. Artie, please, just h-help me," Alfred's voice remained hushed, though the panic became more prominent.

"I can't unless I know where you are; you need to tell me!"

"_I _don't know where I am!" he exclaimed quietly.

"Keep calm, ok? Can you see anything?" Arthur tried to steady his voice to keep the younger man calm.

"It's like a-a basement; all concrete. I'm hiding behind a case of stairs. I'm really," Arthur could just barely register the sound of someone thudding heavy feet down the stairs.

"Alfred, stay on,"

"He's coming Artie!" God, help me!" The older man could tell he was now crying.

"Who is 'he', Alfred?" the Brit asked quickly.

"I-it… IT'S!" he started shouting, but was soon met with the sound of a dead line. Arthur could feel moisture collecting in the wells of his eyes.

"A-Alfred?" he called into his cellphone. He could tell his knees were shaking, and the cellphone slipped out of his hand, crashing to the polished, living room floor with a loud thud. Quickly shaking himself out of his state of shock, he went onto his knees and scrapped up his phone, speedily dialing Alfred's cell phone number. Dial tone. Silence. Dial tone. Silence. "Dammit! Pick up!" he whispered angrily, his vision blurring from fiery tears.

"Hey, it's the hero! Leave a message, and I'll get back to yah, dude!" the American's boisterous voice said, followed by his usual, loud laughter before the recording tone signaled the Brit to leave a message. Anger flashing through him, he hung up and tried again. And again, and again. All getting the same result; a recording. Not the real thing, not the man that actually mattered. That's when he snapped; lost the last few shreds of cool and calm. He curled his hands into fists, pressing them against the hardwood floor. He started to sob and cursing himself harshly. It was _his _job to keep Alfred safe; at least, that's what he full-heartedly believed. Tears fell onto the floor below him; Arthur didn't care. Alfred was in danger; he could even be dead by now. All Arthur knew was that it was his fault.

* * *

The towering man shook his head, threads of silvery hair falling into his face.

"I thought you knew better, Alfred," his voice was thick with a Russian accent. Though he was angry, he smiled. It always added onto his enemies' fear. The blond on the ground doubled over himself, clutching his battered ribs.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked with a rough voice.

"Why not? I might as well have some fun. It gives me great joy to see others in pain," the Russian replied, grinning a childish grin. Alfred didn't bring himself to look up at the towering man.

"You're… crazy," he said between forced breaths.

"Crazy isn't always bad." Unemotional, purple eyes glared down at the injured, younger man. It was certainly new for him to see the blond so weak, very different from his usual, confident self. He could just barely notice the American shaking. Without warning, Alfred jumped up to his feet, and swung a fist in the Russian's direction. Easily, a gloved hand caught the fist, and with his other hand, he curled up his fingers, landing a fist on the blond's temple.

In an instant, Alfred was out cold. His body slumped to the ground, landing on his side on the cold concrete. Ivan chuckled at the sight.

"This is going to be fun," Ivan commented to himself. With a contented sigh, he bent down and effortlessly picked up Alfred with one arm. He slung the blond over his right shoulder, and carried him into another room. He dropped the other man to the ground, pausing to stare at him once again, a smile teasing his lips. A hand reached into his deep pants pocket, pulling out a small metal key. He knelt down onto one knee. His eyes shifted over to the ground next to the wall. An old, metal cuff rested on the ground, connected to the wall with a chain. He quickly unlocked the cuff with the key before placing the small object back into his pocket. He then made quick work of putting Alfred's left wrist into the cuff and making sure it was locked.

"Don't want you leaving, da?" he grinned innocently. He swept away a few, silvery hairs that hung in front of his violet eyes. The Russian composed himself, standing tall and firmly in his heavy, winter boots. "It's been a while since I've had guests; I don't want you to leave quite yet." He readjusted his cream colored scarf as he left the chilled room, making sure the door was locked behind him. The American anthem reached his ears.

With curiosity, he followed the noise back to the staircase. Soon, everything went quiet. Ivan's head cocked slightly to the left, like a confused puppy might do. Music then filled the air again. Ivan made his way to the small space behind the staircase; Alfred was hiding there when he found him. The only object in the cramped space was the man's cellphone, his call notification sounding off loudly. The Russian chuckled to himself as he scooped up the phone in his hands, doing the best he could to keep from crushing it. He waited until the song stopped before turning off the mobile device. Saving it for later, for another part of his game, he tucked it carefully away into his pocket.

With that, his business for the day was done. An air of confidence filling his lungs, he trekked up the set of stairs. He entered the kitchen of the building, standing at an empty counter. His long arms reached up and opened a high cabinet that remained at his eye level, soon pulling out a frosty, glass bottle of vodka. Today's accomplishments called for celebration, did they not?

Ivan sat down at the metal table that stood in the middle of the room, the bottle of his favorite drink held in his gloved hand. He didn't bother grabbing a mug; he simply drank from the bottle. It's not like he had to share with anyone else, so there was no problem with drinking straight from the source. He let the burning drink seep down his throat and boil in his stomach. Vodka was certainly a required taste; Ivan had it. For as long as he could remember, he loved the burn of vodka, heating his throat and stomach with each mouthful.

At the table he remained, downing gulp after gulp until the bottle was empty and his head rested on the table. His eyes were closed in sleep, a small smile plastered on his face. Let the game begin.

* * *

**Sorry for such a short chapter! Well, now we know who attacked Al. Anyone see it coming? I'm sure most of you guys did. I found some spare time to write and so I thought I'd squeeze in this next chapter this week. I'll upload one chapter per week as long as I can help it. Sound good to you? 'Cause that sounds pretty darn good to me :D It'd mean the world to me if you could leave a little review that I can read, not only to brighten up my day, but to also help me with any problems I might have in my writing :) Thank you, and till next time guys -HetareAmerica**


	4. Blame

**I don't own Hetalia, blah, blah, blah… you get the drill…**

* * *

Arthur remained kneeling on the floor, staring blankly at the air in front of him, even after Kiku had arrived at the American's home. Kiku sat on Alfred's couch, staring at the pale blond with concern.

"What should we do?" Kiku asked after a few minutes to break the ice. The Brit stayed silent for a moment.

"I need to find him," he answered angrily, his volume low.

"By yourself? You'll need some,"

"I have to do it myself. It's my fault he...," Arthur's voice trailed off.

"Let me help; let others help. We'll find him together."

"No! It has to be me! He called _me, _Kiku; not anyone else."

"Well, naturally he would. You're one of the closest people to him, and he trusts you. That doesn't mean I can't help," Kiku explained calmly. Reasoning with the other man was such a difficult task.

"He needs _me, _Kiku."

"He needs _all _of us, Arthur-san."

"You didn't hear him; he sounded so afraid, and scared, and hurt. He's _never _been that scared; ever. He was pleading for me to help him, but I couldn't do a damn thing!" the Brit yelled, standing up in a flash and turning towards the Japanese man on the couch. "Do you know how terrible it was for me? To listen him ask for help and not being able to do anything for him?! You don't Kiku! You have no bloody idea!" He was practically screaming now, tears collecting in the wells of his eyes. Kiku stood up, his eye level slightly lower than the other man's.

"I may not know, but I can at least try to understand."

"You'll _never _understand, Kiku. Never," his voice was rough and low. His emerald eyes were flaring at the pair of brown eyes across the room.

"Arthur-san, you need to relax; calm down, please," Kiku tried to reason.

"Calm down?!" Arthur paused to chuckle coldly before continuing. "How the hell could I possibly calm down?! Alfred could be hurt; he could be dead for all I know! It's all! My! Fault!" he yelled angrily, a tear falling from his green eye. The black haired man let out a sigh and wrung his wrists at his waist.

"It's not your fault. He's a grown man, and he can handle himself."

"Poorly! Look where handling himself got him! I-I should have taught him better. I… I should have..," the Brit was wearing out from all the rage he released, leaving him exhausted. He lowered his blond head to face the floor. Kiku allowed himself to draw closer to the Brit.

"I'm sorry, about all of this happening. I'll respect your wish to figure out things on your own, but please consider letting me help. I'm worried about Alfred-san; you aren't the only one. If you need anything, let me know, alright?" Kiku said, black strands of hair falling into his eyes. The blond raised his head, enough to look Kiku in the eyes. The Japanese man noticed they were now void of all anger; instead filled of sorrow and hurt. Arthur released a sob and embraced Kiku. He felt awkward, and in usual circumstances would have pushed him away, but he allowed this invasion of privacy. He patted the blond's back as the man sobbed into his shoulder.

Kiku could feel Arthur shaking with every sob that he let out. It was when the other man was crying that he truly realized how much Arthur cared for Alfred. Kiku could feel his emotions seep into him, though he'd never feel the true extent of them all. Fear, anger, worry, rage, guilt. All swimming throughout the both of them.

Arthur eventually pulled away, keeping his head turned away.

"I-I'm sorry, Kiku. You're right. I… I might need help with this," he admitted miserably. "I've got to sit down for a moment." He turned to the couch, eventually sitting himself on the piece of furniture. He let his head rest in the palms of his hands. The tips of his fingers ran through the end of his messy, blond hair. Kiku sat on the opposite end of the couch, closing his eyes momentarily.

"It's alright. You're not thinking clearly right now; I don't think anyone would be if they were in your place," Kiku stated calmly, tiredness lingering in his words.

"Thank you, Kiku," the Brit thanked, his eyes still shut. His thick eyebrows were slightly furrowed.

"It's no problem," he replied as he glanced out the window. Though the moon wasn't fully visible through the overhanging clouds, he could tell it was almost at the center of the winter sky. "Maybe it'd be best you got some rest," he commented.

"There's no way I'd be able to sleep, knowing what's happening and all. I don't want to sleep 'till I… I mean, we find him." Kiku smiled at the fact Arthur acknowledged they were in this together now. He turned his gentle, brown eyes to the man sitting next to him. He looked extremely tired, and if he didn't know what was going on, he would have assumed that someone he loved had just died. Alfred might have… No, he couldn't allow himself to think such absurd thoughts. It seemed like he was going to have to be the one to keep a level head throughout all of this. He wished though that he could get Arthur to relax himself. The amount of stress he was putting himself through wasn't healthy, and it certainly wouldn't help him think straight.

"When would you like to start?" Arthur raised his head and turned towards Kiku.

"As soon as possible," he responded quietly.

"Well, you're going to have to tell me what Alfred-san said. Are you sure you'll be able to handle it?" Kiku's Japanese accent was affecting his words. It took a moment for the other man to reply.

"Yeah." He didn't sound certain about his answer, but the black haired man could tell he wanted to find Alfred as soon as possible.

"Alright then, if you're certain you're ready, then we'll start going over things. If you'd like to go somewhere else to talk about this, we can."

"We can just stay here." Kiku nodded his head in response. Arthur must have not been looking, because he remained silent.

"So… what were you able to find out?" Kiku wasn't exactly sure how to start the conversation, and he was afraid he had come out too bluntly. He prayed Arthur wouldn't mind.

"… He knows his abductor."

"Was he able to tell you who it was?"

"No… he was going to, but the bastard must have hung up on him as he was going to tell me." Arthur explained, regret sneaking into his tone. "Damn it; I should have asked him from the start. Why didn't I?" he asked himself. Kiku contemplated what to say for a couple of seconds.

"We'll figure it out; don't worry about it right now. What else did you hear?"

"Uh, he's in a basement or something. He was hiding… behind a staircase, and everything was concrete."

"Did he sound injured?" Alfred felt like he was a criminal suspect and was being interrogated.

"I'm not sure. He sounded like he was going to… cry… Oh god, he was crying at the end. Someone was coming down the stairs a-and he started crying… it's all my fault, isn't it?" Kiku shook his head.

"It's not your fault. I don't think you could have prevented this, Arthur-san. I promise you; we'll make it up to him by finding him, and we'll bring him home," Kiku said. Arthur nodded quietly.

"He'll… he'll forgive me, right?"

"There isn't a reason for him to _need _to forgive you for something. He knows it's not your fault. Arthur-san, in order to find him, you're going to have to stop blaming yourself and focus all of you energy on him; not on self-chastisement," Kiku explained tiredly. Arthur remained speechless. A wave of silence washed over the two men, neither of them uttering a word. They were both lost in their own individual thoughts.

"Whoever took him has to be bad news," Arthur stated grimly after a few minutes of thinking.

"He is?"

"Alfred sounded extremely scared. Have you ever seen him scared? Truly scared of someone before?"

"I suppose not, but that being said, that makes things easier for us."

"How so?"

"He knows his abductor, and whoever this man is, he has to be pretty powerful."

"It could be his boss. I remember in the past that he's had some pretty horrifying bosses; ones that beat him if he did something wrong," Arthur recalled with anger.

"I remember. Well, then there's one possibility. What if it's another representative? Another one of us?"

"You couldn't possibly…"

"I'm not saying it is. It's just a hypothesis; nothing more," Kiku defended. Arthur didn't respond. Emerald eyes darted back and forth; gears clearly turning in the man's head. He let out a sigh and shook his head.

"Why did this have to happen to him?" Kiku turned his head towards the blond and gave a faint smile.

"Everything happens for a reason."

* * *

**Sorry for this so-so chapter. Be excited though, next chapter we get to see Alfred again :D There will CERTAINLY be more action next update, so look forward to that next week! Thanks to those of you that are sticking with my story and are enjoying it :) Means a lot to me. Do you guys like the new cover? I had a friend of mine make it for me; such an awesome gal XD Anyway, thanks for reading, reviewing, and all that good stuff! Till next time, -HetareAmerica**


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